


The Three Jokers

by Smokeycut



Series: Earth 54 [6]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1940s, Alternate Universe - 1990s, F/F, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-14
Updated: 2020-11-13
Packaged: 2021-03-09 17:54:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27550333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Smokeycut/pseuds/Smokeycut
Summary: There were 3 clowns in Gotham’s history. In the 1940s there was The Joker. In the 1990s there was Harley Quinn. In the present day, there is Punchline. Each of them left a mark on the city of Gotham, but how? And what connections, if any, do they share?
Relationships: Pamela Isley/Harleen Quinzel
Series: Earth 54 [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1716358
Comments: 4
Kudos: 9





	The Three Jokers

**Author's Note:**

> Geoff Johns told a boring ass story and I can do it better, so here’s the proof.

**June, 1948.**

Talia stood on the aging, rotting boardwalk, with the waves crashing against the iron and rope railing behind her. The funhouse loomed overhead, its crumbling facade a not at all unexpected sight here in Gotham’s Amusement Mile. It’d been abandoned long ago, around the time of the depression, and not a soul had bothered to renovate it in the decade since. 

But Talia remembered. She could recall the old splendor and excitement as if it were yesterday that she’d last come to Gotham. Back when the new century was just finding its footing, in 1918, when the boardwalk was well kept and the carnival games were luring in many a man, woman, and child. She was young, then, young enough that her age truly matched her appearance. Even today, she could almost smell the peanuts and sea salt that wafted on the summer breeze. She could almost hear the joyous sounds of laughter and mirth, carried off on the sea. 

How far it had fallen since those days, she thought with a saddened expression, as a trash-gorged rat scurried by her feet. These days, the only people who came to Amusement Mile were those who had willingly discarded normalcy for a gimmick or trade. Those few faces who milled about the grounds were not young couples or families, but a Carpenter, a Mad Hatter, and a Firefly, who each eyed Talia with strange, hungry looks as she passed them by. 

A large, brutish man lumbered up to her, his balding blue hair flecked with the same white paint that covered his face. He didn’t need to frown, considering the one painted over his mouth, but he did so anyways. 

“You lost, lady?” 

“Not at all. Your employer arranged a meeting with my father’s organization; I am here to carry out this task. I assume he’s in the funhouse?”

Butch was taken aback by her complete lack of fear, but saw little reason to stand in her way. If she had business with the boss, then he’d pay a hefty price for ruining that. If she was lying, well… the boss wouldn’t hesitate to take care of her. No skin off Butch’s back. 

He beckoned for her to follow him into the funhouse, and the other strange figures parted to allow their passing. Talia’s heels clicked against the rotting wood, and she held her head high, hardly even acknowledging their presence. 

She navigated the wandering halls of the clown’s appropriated lair, passing through halls of mirrors and other such frivolities without a care. The flickering lights glanced off her deep brown skin and emerald green dress. 

It wasn’t long before she found her way to his office. A large, near empty aquarium, with an oak desk and a short bald man standing by his side. The short man carried a ventriloquist’s dummy, while the clown sat with his fingers steepled in front of his face. The fish swimming in the tank behind him seemed to be _smiling_. 

The man himself was quite the sight to behold. A tall, wiry thing, with hair the color of limes slicked back with oil and mottled skin the color of chalk. His lips were stained red, his three piece pinstripe suit tailored just for him, with a small pin on his lapel evoking his namesake playing card; a Joker. Despite his clownish appearance, there was no smile on his face. Rather, he wore a deeply lined scowl. 

She was reminded of Conrad Veidt, if he were to commit himself to a life of villainy. 

The Ventriloquist jumped at Talia’s entrance, but Joker simply nodded in the direction of a seat opposite his own. 

“Said she had an appointment, boss,” Butch explained. 

“She does,” Joker said flatly, his voice nasally and dry. She’d expected something rougher, the typical Jersey bark that was common in Gotham. Instead, he spoke with a well rehearsed mid-atlantic accent. “Feel free to take a seat, Miss…”

“Al Ghul. Talia Al Ghul,” She said, her own accent, natural, unlike his, plain in her voice, as she extended her gloved hand. He took her hand in his own and placed a kiss on the back of it, before she sat down and crossed one leg over the other. “I’m here on behalf of my father.”

His lips twitched. The smallest, and coldest, of smiles worked its way across his face, and he leaned back in his chair. He held a finger along the side of his head, and tapped rhythmically at his temple. 

“Hoo hoo, let’s get right to business then. I’m looking to send a message. Take down a politician or two, maybe that police commissioner.”

Talia nodded. “The targets won’t be an issue. No person is beyond the reach of the League. We can draw up a list, and I’ll get back to you with a price shortly thereafter. Of course, the cost will depend on a few factors.”

“Such as?”

She pursed her lips and considered the variables. “The number of targets, the risk in eliminating them, and of course, who it is that fulfills the contract. Some of our men have a rather high price, but they’re well worth their weight in gold.”

His smile grew. “I’m not worried about prices. I just want someone who can do what I need… What about that one, ah…” He snapped his fingers as the name came to him. “Cain! David Cain, that’s the one.”

Talia took a sharp breath. Of course, he just had to pick _him_. She’d always found Cain detestable, but especially so these past few years. “Unfortunately, Mister Cain is off the table for the time being. He’s working on a special assignment for my father.”

Joker cocked an eyebrow, and his sneer returned. “You’re pulling my leg.”

“I assure you, I am not,” She said, her voice reserved and cautious. She didn’t care for her father’s business, or for Cain’s, but she had no desire to botch this meeting. “We do, however, have a wide array of other assassins to choose from. Deathstroke The Terminator, The White Ghost, Copperhead, Ishmael, Ghost Maker… I could even pull a few strings if you’d like to contract Azrael through the Order of St Dumas. They’re all quite efficient.”

He made a small noise in the back of his throat, and considered the possibilities laid out before him. After a long, drawn out silence, he looked Talia in the eyes, and seemed to bore right through her. 

“How about I tell you what I plan to do, and _you_ tell _me_ which of your fabulous killers is the right man for the job?”

A small smile crossed Talia’s face, and again she nodded her head in agreement. 

Joker stood from his desk, and he turned to face the aquarium. The laughing fish swam to and fro, and his expression shifted to match their own. 

“Do you know who ran this town, twenty years ago? Hell, even just _ten_?”

“During prohibition? The Falcone and Maroni families,” She answered, to a praising nod. 

“Mmhmhm,” He chuckled. “They ran everything. Booze, girls, gambling… Like a _business_. But then _he_ showed up, and he took them out back and put them down like the _dogs_ they were. And only the _rats_ got out alive. They knew when to jump _ship_ , and scurry to the shore.”

There was a strange glint in his eye. A distant glimmer of a memory, long since passed by. He knew rats well. As well as only a rat himself could know his fellows. And rats _survived_ , and they could work from experience. He folded his hands behind his back and looked over his shoulder at Talia. 

“The old mobs are dead and gone. Pop, bang, dead in the _mud_ ,” He said, miming a gun with his fingers and his thumb. “And now the clowns, and the ventriloquists, and the hatters and the scarecrows are coming out of our little hidey holes, and telling the people of Gotham “Hey! Look at us! Or we’ll fuck your old man and kill your old lady!” And maybe we will regardless. But the city doesn’t belong to _them_ anymore, see? It belongs to _us!_ It’s _our_ city!” He insisted, pounding his fist against the glass with a dull thud. 

Ventriloquist jumped. Talia did not. And the Joker sighed, and straightened his suit jacket. 

“Forgive me, Miss Al Ghul. I can get a bit crazy sometimes, you see. This city just has that effect on people. Anyways, anyways… The point of all this. The end goal, yes? It’s a matter of _legacy_. Of ensuring that someday, there won’t be a single normal person _left_ in Gotham. They’ll all either be dead… or they’ll become like us. A clown, or a ventriloquist, or a hatter, standing on every street corner and filling every disgusting subway station. A whole city of _freaks_. That’s what I want. To scar every man, woman, and child in this festering hellhole, until they embrace the lunacy.”

He fell silent, and his chest heaved up and down, taking heavy breaths to refill his weak lungs. Talia looked up at him, and they locked eyes for the briefest of moments. He clenched his fists, and ground his teeth. She nodded, and stood, straightening her skirt and stockings. 

“If widespread mayhem is what you want, then I’ll put you in contact with Copperhead. I’ll vouch for her, personally, if that matters. Is there anything else you’d like to discuss?”

He looked down his nose at her for a long moment, before shaking his head. “No, no, I think that about covers it. Have a lovely day, Miss Al Ghul. Oh, and be careful not to step on “guess your weight” scale outside. It’s rigged with a high powered explosive. Just to keep things exciting around here, you know.”

“Mm. Good day to you as well, Joker,” Talia said, before turning on her heel and taking her leave. 

Yes, she thought to herself. Copperhead would be a great fit in Gotham. She’d be all too happy to raise some hell.


End file.
